SUNDAY AFTERNOONS 



corned beef and potato salad ; and there was the even- 

 ing out. Good lager was obtainable in bottle at a 

 dollar for two dozen, or if one " rushed the growler " 

 — sent out a big can or jug — it would be filled at the 

 local bar for ten cents (fivepence). The quantity sent 

 appeared limitless, and all according to the vessel sent 

 — it would always he filled tor the price — ranging from 

 a bedroom jug to a neat glass carafe. 



On Sundays in these rooms I gave little at-homes. 

 Fifty cents' worth of flowers, a jar of rye whisky at a 

 dollar a quart, ice-cold bottled lager, and tea with 

 cakes, attracted many of those I knew, both boys and 

 girls. They would arrive and would amuse them- 

 selves. Emerson Foote, Billy Jefferson, Philip Potter, 

 Bertie Hollender, all could do something, and the 

 black " maid " would sit outside on the staircase, 

 swaying about in delight. 



The pleasantest place in the evening I found to be 

 -the Madrid, run then by George Rector. It was a 

 great thing to go into a restaurant — or cafe — where 

 there was always a certainty of meeting a few boys 

 and girls who were known. So long as the " bank " 

 hung out, so long there was cheer. George Rector was 

 a cheery soul, and helped the conviviality until he went 

 over to manage the glorified and rebuilt Rector's on 

 the other side of Broadway. The other places I didn't 

 find a bit amusing. Louis Martin's had succeeded 

 the garish Cafe de I'Opera which Pruger, late of the 

 Savoy, and now of the Automobile Club, had gone out 

 to manage. Evening clothes had been insisted on 

 for men — failure foredoomed, because men in America 

 will not be bound by convention, and it wasn't 

 Pruger's fault. There were nice men who would not 

 go the distance to change their clothes, but would give 

 their people in gorgeous raiment the best possible. 



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